


Clichés

by annabethcaser



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabethcaser/pseuds/annabethcaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Annabeth's life become a bad rom-com?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clichés

Annabeth wondered when her life had become such a cliché. Here she was, with her boyfriend, walking through the streets of New York hand in hand. At night. While it was snowing. She was wearing _mittens_ , for god’s sake.

Though as she looked at Percy’s face, snow dusting his eyelashes, she couldn’t help but think that clichés were used for a reason. His eyes were like sea glass in the silvery light. His hair perpetually looked like he had just been through a tornado, no doubt due to his hands always running through it. Or hers. She smiled at the thought.

Percy looked down at her, one eyebrow cocked. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” Annabeth answered, smugly.

“Tell me,” he was whining, like a child.

“Nope.”

“Oh, I have ways of making you talk.” He let go of her hand and backed up a few steps.

“What are you doing?” She laughed.

Percy didn’t answer, just simply scooped some snow off the ground, and pressed it between his hands, all the while smirking at her. “Guess.”

“You can’t make a snowball; it’s all powder!” Annabeth rolled her eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Watch me!” He threw the snow, it hit her, and promptly exploded into dust.

Percy, still grinning, stepped closer; so close she had to look straight up to meet his eyes. He put his hands around her waist, pulling her closer. He leaned his face in closer, and started to move his hands up her back.

“Annabeth…”

“Yes?”

“Feel how cold my hands are.” Annabeth shrieked as his bare hands reached her neck and wriggled out of his grasp.

They ran down the street like children, her hair trailing behind her. The cold air filled her lungs; surely she had never run so fast. Surely she had never felt so free.

At the end of the block, he caught up to her and wrapped her in his arms in a kiss. He murmured breathily against her lips, “I win.”

“In your dreams, Seaweed Brain.”


End file.
